Did I say mine?
by ConsultantPerfectionist
Summary: A short but sweet ficlet featuring grumpy Sherlock, and innocent John. Johnlock! Boy kissing, etc etc. No real plan to this, just needed to write something!


**Hello there. I am an experienced fanfic reader, but have never written one before!**

**So, sorry for the length.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned them, there would be nothing but fluff and kisses and Anderson bashing and who needs a conventional blog when there's Tumblr!**

...

Did I Say Mine?

It had been one of those days.

Sherlock was currently sitting on the back of his armchair, throwing knives at the wall.

He normally would have gotten the gun by now, but apparently it was too much effort to acquire it from its _obvious_hiding place.

For once, John was sure that he had absolutely no idea where it was. And that pleased him, tremendously.

But unfortunately, that meant that now the kitchen utensils where his new favourite toy, Sherlock called it "a new experiment," but he knew that really, he just loved to cause chaos. Especially if it was John who was stressing over it.

"Sherlock, do you have to do that?"

"Yes! I'm bored John, and-"

"Don't you dare say that you haven't got anything to do! Your brother gave you a case two days ago."

"Don't care. He's stupid," he slid into his chair as John looked from his, his eyebrow raised sceptically.

"When will you stop with the childish games Sherlock?"

"Childish games. Me? He's the one who threatened to call Mummy if I don't do what the government says I should," by this point he was practically laying on the floor in annoyance.

How could _his_John be so…so…Wait. _His_John. Well that was a mistake, one not to made again. Ever.

"I am begging to you to please stop with the knives, I fear for the safety of the next person who walks through that door."

…

"Lestrade, Sherlock is contaminating the crime scene!"

"Your face is contaminating the crime scene Anderson," Sherlock chose a particularly nasally whine to imitate his voice.

"It's DI Lestrade, Anderson, and Sherlock has my permission to be here. Now unless you can suddenly find a killer from one strand of hair, I suggest you shut up."

Sherlock smirked and nudged John with his shoulder as Anderson sulked away.

John caught himself (at a crime scene) staring intently into Sherlock's eyes. They rarely lit up playfully, but when they did, he was sure to make the most of it.

Even as he continued to study the dead body, his brow creased in concentration, and his mouth pulled taught slightly in the corner, he continued to marvel at _his_Sherlock.

Wait. No, he didn't mean that. He was only staring out of curiosity at how he managed to do what he was…doing. He was defiantly not staring in a stary kind of…teenagery way…at all.

…

John and Sherlock were sat at the table in the kitchen.

John, reading his book.

Sherlock, studying the bacteria on his petri dish.

Neither, were occasionally glancing up at the other, to see if the other was doing the same.

Because that would be odd. Yeah.

Sherlock looked up from his microscope and glared at John. He then swiftly rose from his chair, it screeching in protest as he did.

With a face like a bulldog licking piss of a nettle, he collapsed on the sofa in a graceful heap.

John, sighing, followed him to the living room, and sat next to him.

"What's wrong? Did Mycroft say something unintelligent?"

A muffled "no" was the reply he got.

"Then why do look as if I hid your skull?" He said, genuine concern lined his weathered face.

"I don't like feelings John." He sat up and slid next to him, their bodies barely touching.

John felt a blush creep up his neck only to stain his cheeks. He risked a look at Sherlock, and cleared his throat when he found Sherlock's piercing gaze holding his own, slightly more scared one. Neither moved.

They sat in silence for several seconds.

Sherlock huffed and leant forward capturing Johns lips in a sweet, but ultimately short kiss. More of a brushing of lips, but neither cared particularly, because what they had just done was what neither thought ever capable.

"Please tell me that wasn't an experiment," John said, his voice a little too high for his own liking.

Still just a few centimetres between them, Sherlock ran over his reply in his head. "It was" probably result in John walking out. "It was and the result was what I hadn't hoped for" again, John would walk out before he had any time to explain. "No experiment" a white lie, but would none the less lead to more kissing. Reply chosen.

"No experiment."

They collided in an explosion of barely contained passion. Cupid bow lips met warm, surprisingly smooth ones, Sherlock's hands flying to pull him closer, as John's tangled into his dark, curly mess of hair. They pulled back for breath, and looked each other in the eyes, John smirking slightly at the flushed look that he had caused this brilliant man to have. They met halfway for a third time. This time John decided to take charge, his tongue ran along Sherlock's bottom lip, a gasp of surprise was all he needed, and by the time Sherlock had cottoned on to the situation, John was already winning, a knee either side of Sherlock's lap.

Sherlock broke away to eagerly kiss along his jaw, a chuckle vibrating from him, as John inhaled sharply. He was sucking John's earlobe when he quietly murmured in a low voice, "definitely _my_ John."

John pulled back and took in the scene before him, flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and dark lustful eyes, "definitely _my_ Sherlock."

...

**Well then. That was a first for me, my apologies for the fact that there was no real plot as I was kind of improvising…But hey! For my first fic, I'm mighty pleased.**

**consultingperfectionist is my Tumlbr url.**

**Constructivecriticism is welcomed.**


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